The Essence of Negotiation
by Jessahme Wren
Summary: After returning to her hotel room, Liz can't stop thinking about Red. Set directly after the tango scene in 2x11: Ruslan Denisov. Lizzington.
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is a continuation of episode 2x11: Ruslan Denisov and inspired by that beautiful tango scene. Rated M eventually, so be sure to follow or adjust your filter settings or you won't be able to see the updates.

Disclaimer: Not mine; just taking them out to play.

Finally, it's been awhile since I've written anything and ages since I've written M, so if you would leave a comment, it would certainly make me less nervous about finishing this story (not to mention it would make my day!). Thanks so much :)

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_At the outset, they're opponents… each has something the other wants. They size one another up: assessing risks, setting boundaries, challenging each other to breach them. A sensuous battle—violence and sex… balanced on the blade of a knife. Nothing given that is not earned. Nothing taken that is not given. This is the pure essence of negotiation._

_ –_ Raymond Reddington

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It was after ten before she got back to the room. It was steeped in the same red velvet elegance and classic baroque styling that was standard for the hotel, and Liz wanted nothing more than to throw herself onto the king-sized bed and sink into its luxe comfort.

But she wasn't tired. In fact, she felt..._alive_. Every nerve tingled, every muscle sang for want of movement. A restless electricity coursed through her body, singeing her arms and legs and quickening her stomach before escaping through her pores in a fine and barely discernible sheen of perspiration that gave her skin a dewy glow.

Liz looked in the mirror, and there was a bright blush to her cheeks that matched her deep red lips. She touched her fingers to them, feeling the heat there with the cool pads of her fingers. She blew out a shaky breath, momentarily fogging the gilded mirror. Liz watched the image waiver, her fingers trembling slightly as she withdrew them, clearing her throat.

_It was the wine_, she thought. She'd had two glasses at dinner, as much to settle her nerves as to be polite, and it must've colored her face. Having Red show up in Uzbekistan had been...unsettling, she decided, finally agreeing upon an appropriate word. _Unsettling, yes. _Her hand went up to her carefully done hair. It struck her as beautiful; she'd struggled with the shorter length of late, but tonight she was particularly proud of how she'd achieved a sort of Grace Kelly-inspired chignon and she didn't want to take it down quite yet. She removed her earrings instead and placed them carefully beneath the lamp. She began unbuttoning her blouse.

"_Watch closely Lizzie." _

Red's voice in her head was so clear she stopped halfway down the row of buttons. His rich vibrato ringing in the space between them only an hour before had resonated so deeply in her that it was almost as if she could feel him in the room now...behind her...his breath on her neck.

She smoothed the open blouse where it fell along her ribcage and made contact with the warmth beneath it. She allowed herself a little revelry; after all, she was alone with her thoughts and fantasizing about Raymond Reddington seemed a victimless crime.

Only she was still angry with him.

She sighed. There was much to sort out when it came to Raymond Reddington, she decided, and she was yet unsure of how much of him she wanted in her life. How much of him she allowed into her head, however, seemed to be a decision that was currently beyond her control.

Liz crossed to the bed and placed her watch on the nightstand. She let her hand travel across the marble top, the smooth coolness a welcome counterpart to the steady burn in her face and the elevated pulse that now thrummed mightily in her veins as if the electricity had touched her there, too, had touched her everywhere, into the deepest parts of her.

Maybe it wasn't the wine, she found herself thinking, but she dismissed the thought before she could dwell on it.

She let the blouse fall to the floor, the green silk charmeuse that Red had commented on as reminding him of the exact color of the ivy growing on the wall that Mary Sue Pekipsie had pushed him up against in 7th grade, French kissing him into blissful teenage oblivion. Although she had carefully masked her reaction at the time, she had secretly smiled, and she did so openly now.

"_Each has something the other wants_."

Red's smooth intonation washed over her, ringing in her head, and she had to remind herself once again that she was alone.

Red had never been one for subtlety, and she knew that entire lesson in the art of negotiation had been meant for her...for them. He wanted the fulcrum, she knew, but what did he have that she wanted?

_Answers_, she thought. And if she was really honest with herself, perhaps more.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The black silk camisole she'd worn under her blouse was part of a larger piece, and it disappeared under the waistband of her slacks. She turned, catching her reflection in the mirror once more, and let her eyes fall to the lace trim along the bodice that discretely framed a modest décolletage. She almost looked like she belonged that way; a warm summer night and it wouldn't have been indecent. But it wasn't her, she decided, or more accurately, it wasn't the Elizabeth Keen the rest of the world knew. For a moment she imagined herself away from the FBI and having never met Tom. And then, having never known Sam and being raised by her natural parents. What woman would she have been? What woman was she now?

A knock came at the door, startling her. She glanced briefly at the clock, wondering if she had ordered room service earlier and had simply not remembered. She reached for her blazer and slipped it on over the camisole, ignoring the discarded blouse, and pressed her eye to the peephole.

It was Red, standing there looking bored, looking fidgety. She watched him say her name. "Lizzie it's me," and she heard it dully through the solid oak door. He was holding something, and she was momentarily satisfied to watch him here, where she was free to study him and for however long she desired.

But that was impossible, she knew, as Red would most likely continue knocking until she acknowledged him or until the entire hotel was awake.

She slid the chain on the door and whisked it open, catching him mid-knock. His balled fist hovered briefly in the air before he let it fall, returning it to his side or to the parcel in his hand, she couldn't be sure. She was too busy staring at his face.

It was smooth, with the same Mediterranean tan he must've been born with. She watched his eyes, the color imperceptible now in the warm light of the corridor. They traveled to her lips, then briefly to the black silk peeking from beneath her blazer, widening visibly but only for a moment.

"Were you going out?" He had his head canted slightly and was looking at her with the same veiled interest and possession that he reserved only for her. The parcel (a small box of some sort) was still in his hand.

She lifted her chin. "No," she said smoothly. "I was just getting ready for bed actually." Then, feeling a bit dangerous, she moved her hand higher on the door so that the blazer opened a bit; she could feel the cooler air from the hall rush into the opened space and prickle her skin. She knew what she was doing, the reaction she suddenly seemed motivated to coax from him, but made no move to correct her actions. In fact, she had no desire to.

She saw him swallow, but his eyes remained fixed on her face. "Well I won't be long then," he said smoothly. "May I come in?"

Liz lowered her hand on the doorframe until she grasped the brass handle. "Of course," she said dismissively, and swung the door wider for him to enter. She watched him press into the room, his mouth fixed as he surveyed his surroundings. "I thought you and Donald had adjoining suites," he said dryly.

She scoffed before she could school herself, her brows furrowed. "Don't be ridiculous," she said evenly. "I've seen Ressler naked enough times for a lifetime."

Red's eyes widened at this, and he was clearly taken aback but not caught off guard. _Never caught off guard, _she thought as she watched him. His hand had tightened on the little box; she could see the absence of blood in his knuckles.

"I had no idea you and Donald were so familiar," he said crisply. He reached for his hat, smoothly removing it and, looking for its place, hung it neatly on the bedstead. His face had gained some color, she thought, and his eyes were pinched.

"We're not," she said smoothly, feeling suddenly in charge, powerful. "At least not in that way. We go out into the field," she continued, "we shower, we change." She was walking slowly toward him, and he was looking at her steadily and with a hard mouth. "With the other agents at the Post Office," she finished.

Liz smiled broadly, showing her white teeth against the brilliant ruby lips he had been immediately drawn to when she had entered the restaurant earlier in the evening. He let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

"Ressler and I have never negotiated the terms of our working relationship," she added needlessly, knowing Red would get the meaning in context with the evening's events, the tango, their dinner.

He smiled quickly, but she could see that his face had already softened. "Ah. Well, I had the chef package this for you," he said. "It seemed a shame to leave something so perfect completely untouched." His eyes caught hers, and he opened the lid to reveal the baklava nested in a little white doily.

She eyed it quickly and with little interest; instead, she looked at him squarely. "Who was that couple," she asked suddenly. "At the restaurant." She had thought of them since their dinner...the woman and man who had danced the tango as she and Red watched. It had seemed so intimate, violent and beautiful. The femme fatale, her courtesan, each of them guided through the dance by passion, by intuition.

Red closed the lid on the pastry and sat it on the nightstand. "I haven't the slightest. Hired entertainment? Patrons of the restaurant caught up in the moment?" He turned his head slightly and studied her. "Two adversaries locked in a battle of wills?"

She sucked in he lower lip, feeling warm. "Negotiation," she said.

Red nodded. "Negotiation," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Liz cleared her throat, feeling the heat between them ebb and flow in rhythmic release. "Do you think they were lovers," she asked nonchalantly, turning away from him briefly and doing her best impression of being casual.

"Perhaps," Red said quietly. "Perhaps not." His was the tone he used when he was figuring things out, working them around in his mind…in his mouth. He was studying her curiously.

"Do you want me to show you?"

Her face colored instantly, and she silently thanked God or whoever was watching that her back was turned for a moment. She pressed her hands onto the dresser and nodded, her back to him. "I've never tangoed," she said.

He tsked quietly, shaking his head in dismay. "Now that is truly criminal," Red intoned softly. He landed behind her, and she could feel the heat of is body even through his suit. "Here or downstairs?" His voice was little more than a low purr, and she could feel his warm breath skate across the bent column of her neck. She pressed her hands more deliberately into the dresser to quell the trembling of her upper body before turning around.

"Here," she said evenly. "I wouldn't want to embarrass myself." She huffed sharply, averting her eyes.

"It's been a long time since I've tangoed Lizzie, and I've never danced the Milonga." He smiled at her. "I might be the one embarrassed." She met his gaze and, seeing the honesty there, felt a little more at ease.

"We'll start with the basics," he said smoothly. He took her gently by the elbow and led her to the center of the room. "Besides, I've found that beautiful women are a bit like beautiful cars." She looked at him curiously. "Hold them the right way and they drive themselves."

She laughed, and it surprised her. He turned away from her for a moment and approached the nightstand. He withdrew something from his pocket, fiddling with it before placing it into the iPod docking station of the clock radio under the lamp. The soulful strains of Otis Redding's "I've Been Loving You Too Long" slowly bled into the space, vibrating in her chest and humming against the walls of the room. Red stepped back into her space, and she realized upon his return that she had missed the heat of him, his solid presence and scent and the way he electrified the room.

He looked at her with faux authority, his back ramrod straight and a smile playing along his lips. "Are you ready?"

She stood there, a little beguiled by this man that she still knew so little about and was suddenly unsure if she was ready at all.

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	2. Chapter 2

Thank you everyone for the comments on Chapter One. Reviews are everything and they motivate me to keep going despite RL!

Also, I will continue writing these two (as long as the muse allows) the way I see them: Strong, but with complexities, and as equal partners where the only scolding is consensual. ;)

Speaking of, the next and final chapter is M. Be sure to follow and please leave a comment if you like where this is headed. I would love to know what you think.

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Summary: "Theirs was a natural and imperfect tango that tested and teased until they moved in a practiced rhythm, an easy simpatico that would've tricked the most casual viewer into thinking these two people, this man and woman, belonged at each other's side, that they had always belonged there."

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Liz canted her head slightly as the song, plaintive and beautiful, swelled over the room.

"Otis Redding?" she inquired quietly. She favored him with a small smile. "That's a strange choice for a tango." He was walking toward her now, a slow and steady advance like an approaching storm. She worried her lower lip.

"There's nothing strange about it," he said casually. He stopped just in front of her. If she leaned forward a few inches, she would catch the shimmering heat from his body.

"It's not the music that matters in the tango, Lizzie." His eyes flitted over her, stopping again at the black silk beneath the blazer. They lingered there, and he licked his lips. "It's the movement."

She swallowed hard, stepping into his space. She held her arms up in the manner of a proper waltz, the dance they'd shared at the Embassy. Red smiled. He took her hand, looking at it for a moment as it was some rare thing, something to be marveled at, and then slipped his other arm around her and pulled her close.

She gasped sharply, surprised by the feel of his body flush with hers, overwhelmed by the proximity. She had only been this close to him a few times, and they were all times where she had felt the most vulnerable. But she no longer felt vulnerable; she felt strong. She let out a steadying breath.

"Sorry Lizzie," Red said in a low rumble, "but the tango requires partners to be closer than in the waltz." He angled his head closer to her so his mouth was at her ear. "Are you alright with that?"

Liz nodded her head tightly, managing only a thin "mm hm" that did not sound like her natural voice. Where the blazer opened across her chest, she could feel the sharp line of Red's tie pressing into the thin silk of the camisole and the warmth of his skin even through the layers.

"Follow me," he intoned quietly, holding her firmly so that he created a space of about an inch between their bodies. "When I step forward, you step back. Easy enough?"

"Sounds easy enough," she breathed. She paused; a trimmer of nerves went through her arms before disappearing nearly as quickly. She looked up at him. "I'm not that great of a follower." She smiled then, a prim quirk of her mouth, and Red's eyes softened. "Well, that makes two of us," he said with a smile.

They danced, slowly at first, because Liz needed coaching, stopping and starting many times. "Here," Red said with a corrective touch behind her, just below the waistband of her pants, "put a little more spring in your knees, and arch your back."

She complied, retreating as Red advanced. "Slow, slow, quick, quick slow," he chanted in her ear until he had ascertained that she had gained enough confidence for him to stop, for him to simply lead by the push of his body, by the momentum of his feet. Their legs whispered against each other, their bodies fused and comfortably one.

"On the last step, pull your leg in," he said quietly, "but only touch your knees. Leave your feet apart."

She looked down long enough to see if she was doing it right, and Red broke their hold. "Don't look down," he chided mildly, "and don't look at me." He tipped her chin with the lightest touch of his fingers. "Look over my shoulder."

Liz met his gaze. His eyes flamed briefly with a curious fire, and she was drawn to them. He looked coiled, confident-ready to spring on her or equally prepared to bolt from the room, she was unsure which. Red was unpredictable, one of the many things about him that was an unquestionable constant.

She looked away, fighting the urge to challenge him, to resist his tutelage even though she had asked for it. It was her nature, after all. Red seemed to sense this and quickened their pace. He moved them through a series of turns, as much as the room would allow. Liz kept up with him, moving back as he moved forward, dutifully pulling her leg to a closed position, and then again. It became easier, like breathing, and she felt her body relax into the steps. Being in his arms was as familiar as a memory, moving when he moved, _inhale_…_exhale_, and start again. Theirs was a natural and imperfect tango that tested and teased until they moved in a practiced rhythm, an easy simpatico that would've tricked the most casual viewer into thinking these two people, this man and woman, belonged at each other's side, that they had always belonged there.

On the last step Red grabbed her thigh, lifting her leg as it bent at the knee and pulled it flush with his. Liz cried out in surprise, but she did not resist. He leaned forward, easing her into a low dip. His hand went up between her shoulders, supporting her weight, and he hitched her leg up even higher so that it was flush with his waist; Liz could feel his body pressing between her legs, solid and warm. His hand lingered on her hip, applying firm pressure but nothing more before righting her again.

Liz was breathless, both lightheaded from coming up too fast and from the sheer proximity to Red. "We didn't practice that," she said weakly, working discretely to catch her breath.

Red chuckled heartily, pulling her even closer than before. "The tango is allowed to evolve, Lizzie," he said rather sultrily in her ear. "Sort of like negotiation."

A full warmth settled low in her belly. It began to unwind and disperse itself to other parts of her body, spreading like wildfire with every beat of her heart.

She wanted him.

She hadn't realized it before, when she was alone in her room, but she recognized it now, the wanton ache for someone-body, mind, and soul.

She tightened her arm around him. "And what are we negotiating," she asked as they resumed the dance.

Red turned them again. "Oh you tell me," he said rather enigmatically. Liz looked at him for a moment, and her face grew warm.

"I can't imagine I would have anything you would want," she said carefully. She missed a step, betraying her nerves and the unsettling way the conversation had turned.

Red was unaffected, or if he noticed her discomfort, he did not show it. "Oh I think you do," he said softly, compensating for her misstep. "I think you found it," he whispered. "When were you going to tell me Lizzie? Hmm?" He moved his head closer so that his cheek rested against hers. "Did you think I wouldn't know?"

_The Fulcrum_. _Of course._

She pushed away from him, embarrassed by her own error in perception, but he caught her arm. His hands were firm and unrelenting.

She whipped around, her eyes flaming. "That's what all of this is about, isn't it," she said acidly. "It's what _everything _has been about."

He only looked at her. "Yes," he said finally. "But you are only half right. I want the Fulcrum, but only because my having it is the only thing holding all of this together."

She stared at him blankly. "What do you mean by that?"

He released her, looking down at the floor before returning her gaze. "This," he said simply, gesturing in the space between them. "You and I. Whatever we are. It's all part of a larger puzzle, and the most important piece is the Fulcrum."

She watched him critically, his hands lax at his sides. "You're lying," she said bitterly. "You want whatever that thing is so you can save your own ass. Your motivations have nothing to do with me." She stalked away from him, and when she turned around, there were tears in her eyes.

"You were _there,_" she said accusingly. "I saw you while I was under hypnosis. You were there to get that thing the night of the fire, and here you are again. It's all you've _ever_ cared about," she cried suddenly, the tears now flowing freely. She narrowed her eyes at him. "And it's all you'll ever care about."

He looked stricken; it was the same broken expression he had worn when she had rejected him after waking up from hypnosis. It was a lost and disbelieving ghost of some deep sadness, and he wore it like a mask with two holes cut for the eyes that stared back at her now, filled to overflowing with their own tears.

"I might've come for the Fulcrum that night, but I stayed for you," he said quietly. "And it nearly killed me." He swallowed, and behind the mask his eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

She closed her mouth, and at some point she realized she had stopped crying.

"So you believe whatever you want to Lizzie," Red said quietly. He began to advance slowly toward her, his palms up and his arms at obtuse angles before dropping again. "But know one thing with absolute certainty." He stopped just before entering her space. "I have never lied to you, and I never will." He was looking into her eyes now, and he could not stop himself from reaching out and touching her arm. He closed his fingers around it.

Liz closed her eyes, and when she did, she _saw _him. She saw him through the flames, through the choking smoke...not her father, but Red; his fingers were closed around her arm, half dragging, half pulling her through the wreckage, through the inferno that was her house. And then there were screams-but not hers-and fire. Flames around them, everywhere, flames and heat and burning, and then finally, darkness.

_"Whatever we are."_

She opened her eyes. Red was looking at her, and although she knew only a moment had passed, it seemed like minutes. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Will you tell me something then," she asked him. His hand was still on her arm, and he was looking at her expectantly.

"What are we," she asked quietly, but he made no move to answer. "When you said before 'whatever we are.'" She looked up at him, her eyes large. "Then what are we Red?"

He worked his mouth, and his hand on her arm loosened a bit. He let it drop. "That's up to you," he said. "It's always been up to you."

For a few moments they said nothing; they simply looked at the other. Finally, Red dropped his head. "I guess I should be going."

Red crossed to the bed and retrieved his hat where it still perched on the bedpost. He flipped it smoothly onto his head. He was at the door when he paused, his hand on the door handle. He turned to look at her. "Is it safe," he asked. "The Fulcrum?"

She nodded tightly. "It's safe." She chewed her lower lip. Red stood there looking as if he wanted to say more, but he didn't. He turned away from her and twisted the handle on the door.

Liz closed the space between them in just a few steps. She placed her palm on the door and pushed it closed, and Red turned around, somewhat surprised. Their faces were inches apart.

She had nothing to say. She only knew that she didn't want him to leave, and beyond a panicked response to his near absence, her actions were a silent entreaty for him to stay. It was a decision not to be alone, at least not tonight, and Red seemed to understand every unspoken word.

Liz pressed her body into his until he was crushed against the door. She saw his eyes widen in surprise, then darken. She claimed his lips first, and they were soft, full and meant to be kissed; why she hadn't done so until now she really couldn't fathom. She pressed further into the heat of his mouth, and he moaned, a small unbidden sound that vibrated in their fused bodies, quickening her desire. Red finally moved and reached to embrace her, but his touch was far too delicate even to her heightened awareness. He returned the kiss, but then withdrew, the hands at her upper arms pushing her away slightly so he could see her face.

His eyes, full of questions, were also hooded with desire.

She moved her hand to his neck, letting her fingers slip beneath the collar of his pristine white shirt. "Did Mary Sue Pekipsie kiss you like that Red? Against the schoolhouse in 7th grade?" She pressed into him seductively; her voice was husky with an air of arrogance, of confidence, and it flowed over him like a warm breeze.

"No," he said, raggedly. "She had braces and it hurt like hell." His eyes traced the graceful column of her neck down to her breasts. "And she was a little girl," he said roughly, "and not a woman." His pupils were black and rimmed with a dangerous fire. "And she certainly wasn't you."

Liz smiled lazily and began taking down her hair. Her eyes never left his face.

"What are you doing," he asked with some humor.

Her eyes flitted to the bed behind them. "When I'm hitting that headboard over there, these could cut my scalp." She pursed her lips, shaking out her tresses until they fell to shoulder length. She discarded the hair pins and favored him with a wicked grin. "Safe sex and all."

His mouth had gone dry, and it was hard to swallow. "Aren't we presumptuous," he managed, but it wasn't delivered with his patented smoothness, and there might've been a ghost of a tremor there.

Liz reached up to touch his face, caressing the lightly stubbled cheek in her palm. "You said it was up to me, Red," she said quietly, "what we are. And I want this." She let her thumb sweep across his lips, teasing the corner of his mouth with the edge of her thumbnail. "Don't you?"

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	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for the reviews on this story; you consistently motivate me and fuel my muse! Much love!

There is one more chapter after this one; please note the rating change to M :). As always, I would love to hear what you think. It's been awhile since I've written M, and I'm somewhat nervous about posting. I could use a little confidence boost with this one, especially *blush*. Thank you and enjoy!

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Red locked eyes with her, the tension now palpable between them. He caught the pad of her thumb where it rested on his lips and pulled it between his teeth, applying enough pressure to make her flinch. Then, he pressed her palm to his mouth and placed an open-mouthed kiss there.

"I've wanted this since the day I saw you," he said sultrily. "That first day at the Post Office." His voice was rich and resonated in those hollow spaces within her that had long been empty, the ones that had only been partially filled with Tom and then only under fraudulent circumstances. He was looking at her from half lids, his mouth working his way down her wrist.

She abruptly snatched her hand away and began working on his tie. "Even after I stabbed you with a pen," she asked wryly.

He reached up and grabbed her wrist, stilling her movements. "Especially after that." He let his eyes move down the length of her body, appreciating the lines and curves evident even beneath her clothes. His gaze lingered awhile on her breasts, on the soft swell that rose above the lace. "I like a challenge."

She laughed, a throaty, seductive laugh and pushed away from him. "So this _is_ a game to you, isn't it," she said teasingly, walking off with the loose end of his tie and letting it trail behind her. He caught the end of it and pulled her to him roughly. She landed heavily in his arms.

"Not a game...just a negotiation," he whispered into her ear. "One with high stakes, but also high rewards."

She squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Aren't we being presumptuous."

"Always," he said smoothly. "I presume you will nearly kill me, but I also know it will be entirely worth it."

He pulled her closer to him, kissing her roughly. His hand was on the back of her neck, the other at her waist. This was not the delicate embrace of before; she could feel the firm pressure of his body crushing into hers, mooring her into place. She moaned, a soft and throaty sound that stoked his desire. A flash of heat seared her body, mingling with the steady ache between her legs. She twisted against him as much as he allowed, but Red had a firm hold on her. Instead, she moved her hands beneath his jacket, pulling him ever closer.

When he finally released her, both of them were breathless. If that was a kiss, he thought to himself, then she would surely kill him. He looked at her where she stood before him, her lips swollen and cheeks flushed. He had never wanted anyone more.

"What exactly are we negotiating," she asked, a little dazed. Red smiled, his eyes narrowing.

"You out of those clothes if I have anything to say about it." He moved his hand around to her shoulder, gently kneading the blazer there. "And I think we should start with this."

His hand slipped under the fabric of the blazer and began pushing it from her shoulders, but she shirked away from him. Liz was working her mouth thoughtfully, one hand on her hip. "I think that since I opened these negotiations, I should be the first to deliver my terms." She stepped into his space, trailing a hand down the front of his shirt. She stopped at his belt. "Don't you think?"

She was looking at him knowingly, and then her mouth curved into a lazy smile. She let her fingers trail just below his belt, briefly appreciating the girth there.

He flinched, swallowing hard. "That seems only fair," he managed tightly.

She nodded, moving even closer to him. She never removed her hand from him, rather she joined it with the other and slowly moved up his abdomen, reveling in the topography of his chest, the pectoral muscles down to the broad shoulders and strong arms. She pushed the suit jacket back and away. His skin flexed and quivered beneath her fingers, and a little hiss escaped his lips as she moved closer to his face.

"Here's a tip for you Red," she said silkily as she bent to mouth the little place on his neck where she'd stabbed him. "Less is more." She took off his signature hat and spun it Frisbee-style across the room where it landed unceremoniously on the dresser and tumbled to the floor. He eyed it with some surprise.

"I've always liked you like this," she said easily, "stripped down, a little undone. Like you've just been ravaged by a beautiful woman."

Liz was walking around him now, maintaining close proximity to his ear; he could feel the warmth of her breath on his bare skin. She was behind him, taking her time as she moved her hands down his back to the waistband of his pants. She began tugging at his shirt.

Abruptly he turned, grabbing her by both arms. She was breathing heavily; the lace camisole beneath the blazer stirred a little with the rise and fall of her chest. He needed to see more of it.

"These negotiations are a little one-sided, don't you think?" He was staring at her mouth, and he licked his lips.

"Ladies first," she said sweetly, and moved to open the collar of his shirt, but he stopped her. "Oh, I intend on honoring that," he said seriously, "but it's my turn now."

She thrilled at his words, the blood coursing through her veins. He moved a tendril of hair away from her neck, exposing the sensitive skin to the cool air. Red blew on it, stirring the wisps that fell around her face. She closed her eyes. His arm snaked around her back, holding her tightly. He closed his mouth on the sensitive skin just below her ear.

Liz gasped, silently cursing herself for her lack of control, but in some part of her mind not caring at all. He applied a little suction there, humming appreciatively, and she could feel the light stubble scrub against her skin, and his hot mouth, and it was nearly more than she could bear. Her hands flexed against him, tightening their grip. She moaned a little through her teeth and let her head fall to the side, giving him greater access.

The little sounds she was making, the little purrs and moans and tiny hitches, were making it hard for him to concentrate. He wanted her, but he also wanted to savor every moment, every part of Elizabeth Keen he'd missed out on all these months. From the looks of things, from the feel of her body against his and the taste of her, he'd missed out on quite a lot.

"Mmm," Red murmured against her skin. "You smell like hyacinths and sex." He nosed her ear. "God," he whispered, and it might have been a prayer. Before withdrawing, he couldn't resist trying to coax one more of those sounds from her. He pulled the lobe of her ear between his lips and then caught it with his teeth.

She gasped, a sharp, throaty sound that went right to his groin, and her eyes opened in surprised. He released her then, studying her face. Dark pupils rimmed in deep blue, her breath coming in little pants through slightly parted lips.

His hands fell to her shoulders, shaking a little as he hastily pushed down the blazer. Once removed, he appreciated the ivory skin, the ample breasts framed by black lace, rising and falling with every rapid breath. He traced her side and over her abdomen, his hands sliding easily over the black silk, hot even against her flushed skin. He reached the juncture of her breasts and he stopped. He licked his lips before covering both breasts with his hands.

He groaned, which he had not expected, and she arched into his hands, her nipples hard. She wasn't wearing a bra, only the camisole, and the silk against his hands, the weight of her breasts did nothing to slate his thirst for her. He caressed them gently, testing their weight before pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Liz cried out, but he caught her mouth with his before she could make another sound. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him, grinding her hips into his with every rhythmic thrust of his tongue. Though she'd lost all coherent thought long ago, one realization seeped into her consciousness amid the haze of desire: she was dangerously close to the edge and she was still fully clothed.

Red pulled at the camisole, but it wouldn't budge. She withdrew, shaking her head as much to clear it as to find the words. "It's one thing," she managed, and there was a slight tremor in her voice. He only nodded, going to his knees to work the button on her pants.

He slid them down over her hips, letting his fingers trail along the firm skin there. Indeed it was one piece, a black silk teddy with a bias cut that struck just above the curve of her ass. He was on his knees and looking up at her reverently, caressing her calves, her thighs, and moving upward. He slid his finger under the leg of the teddy and pressed his face between her legs.

"Red," she breathed, rocking onto the balls of her feet. Her hands dropped to his head, running her fingers over his close cropped hair. "Take me to bed."

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	4. Chapter 4

Just going to drop this here and run away quickly ;). Thank you to all who have read and reviewed; this is how I leave them.

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Liz stepped out of her shoes and pants and he stood, kissing his way up her abdomen, between her breasts, and finally her mouth. In one fluid motion Red lifted her, and her legs wound around him as she pressed her sex into the cool metal of his belt buckle. He carried her the last few steps to the bed and dropped her heavily onto the mattress where he settled on top of her.

"No," she breathed. He was working on her neck again, and had one strap of the teddy under his fingers and was bringing it down. "It's my turn." She flipped him then, just as she'd learned in defense training, and settled on his lap.

His face was flushed, his eyes wide and expectant. She perched on the swell of his sex and began working on the buttons of his shirt. "Your part of the negotiations took entirely too long," she said simply. "I need a resolution to this problem and I need it now."

She pushed on his chest with the tips of her fingers, keeping him down.

He watched her work; his hands went across the bed and up her thighs to settle at her waist. He gave her a light squeeze, and she twisted her hips against him. The motion elicited a low groan from Red, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Her mouth twitched into a crooked smile.

Liz had freed the buttons of the crisp white dress shirt down to the waistband of his pants, leaving a tanned sliver of flesh peaking from beneath it. She sat astride him, her back straight but relaxed as Red's hands made slow circles from her lower back down to her ass. She watched his face, and he seemed fascinated, almost entranced as she sat atop him. She pushed the shirt to either side, fully exposing his chest. Long had she desired to see what lay buried beneath those perfect suits, the flawless facade of Raymond Reddington. For a moment she simply appreciated him, leaning forward with her hands on either side of his arms to study the fine dark hair, the well defined pectoral muscles that blended seamlessly into strong shoulders and arms. She moved her hands up the smooth plane of his chest, threading the fine hair between her fingers.

"Mmm," she said seductively. "Who needs baklava?" She bent over and placed an open-mouthed kiss just over his heart.

"Lizzie," he murmured softly. Indeed she was both soft and hard and beautifully volatile, he found himself thinking; she was a number of unnamed wonders that left her perfectly unclassifiable in every way but one: She was his.

He pulled her down to him so she was lying on his chest, needing to feel her against him. He kissed the top of her head, his arms wrapping around her, and he could feel as well as hear her soft sigh against him. "You know, there were some points earlier that I wasn't able to fully elaborate on," he said silkily. "And since this has been such a successful negotiation so far, I know you'll permit me."

She didn't have long to consider what he meant. He had her at the waist, lifting her up and closer to him. He settled her roughly onto the bed beside him and sat up so their faces were almost even. His eyes roved restlessly over her body, over the black silk that hugged her closely. "This is truly lovely," he said, lifting the strap of her teddy with one finger, "but it has to go." He let the strap fall, kissing the spot where it once resided, and then kissed her lips. It suddenly dawned on him that even though this was such a new thing, them being together like this, it felt so blessedly familiar.

The black silk relented but only slipped down as far as the tops of her breasts. Liz shrugged her arms out of the straps, threading her hands through his open collar and giving it a little tug. She looked up at him hungrily through half-lidded eyes, their usual aquamarine a deep sapphire. "Kiss me Red," she said sultrily. Her lips parted expectantly, and Red moved in close as if to kiss her, but his mouth settled on her ear instead. "Lie back," he said, and she could feel him smile against her.

She nodded, moving to the side of him and lying prone. Red inclined next to her, his hand settling on her abdomen. For a moment he seemed content to look at her this way, his fingers splayed across the black silk, the skin beneath it warm even through the fabric. He moved his hand in a meandering path up her body, dragging his hand across the silk and then gently tugging the fabric downwards, over her breasts, then her hips, and finally over the smooth calves until he cast it off and it lay in a pool of soft darkness on the floor.

Lizzie lay before him, legs and curves and flawless skin, her complexion a stark contrast to the dark hair (somewhat golden in the warm light) that fanned around her head in delicate wisps. "So beautiful," he murmured, though he was scarcely aware he'd said anything. The way he was looking at her-ravenous, possessive-made her ache for him even more.

Red touched her thigh with the back of his hand and leaned in close, encouraged by the warmth he found there. He followed the line of her body to the beautiful arc of her waist and up to her breasts. He stopped, stymied for a moment by the lovely symmetry of each and how every inch of her was perfectly unique and simply _right_. She may not have been his first, he found himself thinking, but she would certainly be his last.

"Get up," he commanded gently. His voice was thick. His hands were on her waist, and he could feel the gooseflesh there under the pads of his fingers. Red helped her to a sitting position and then pulled her on top of him.

Liz laughed, caught off guard by the sudden movement, and Red cherished the sound. Rich and warm, her laughter unknotted something within him, like tension releasing on a frayed rope. He buried his face in her neck, content to dwell in that feeling for as long as he could, and inhaled.

She was straddling his bare chest, relishing in the feel of his warm skin against hers. Red was leaning back on a pillow, looking at her with barely veiled admiration. His hands were on her thighs.

"On your knees," he said quietly. His voice held a note of gentle authority.

She looked at him curiously, worrying her lower lip. He locked eyes with her, grinning wickedly before boosting her up onto her knees. She had to grab the headboard for balance, and he lay under her. Her legs trembled both from anticipation and physical need, and she had to will them still.

"Red…" she began thinly, but she never finished. His hands were on her, smoothing her buttocks with gentle pressure and then holding her steady. They floated around to her abdomen, grazing the taut flesh there, exploring her body with a sort of reverence and wonder. Finally, his hand went lower, fingers brushing the mound of soft curls that hovered inches from his face. She could feel his hot breath on the inside of her thighs, and then the faint stubble there as he rested his cheek against her leg. Her eyes slipped closed, and she made a little sound between her teeth.

She began moving her head from side to side, quite unsure of what she was refusing. Thoughts came with difficulty or not at all. She tightened her grip on the headboard, seeing spots behind her eyelids.

Red was looking up at her, and he smiled. "Oh Lizzie," he said with a low rumble, "how could I not? You're positively glistening."

Then his mouth closed on her, and she moaned.

Red lathed her core in achingly slow passes of his tongue, driving her to the very point of oblivion, then varying his touch in both speed and intensity. She instinctively rocked her hips into him, unable to thwart the movement as she was unable to stifle the sounds coming unbidden from her mouth. He had his hand on her, holding her roughly, and she could hear him grunt against her. She gasped his name, feeling her body quicken on the precipice, spiraling to an inevitable release. She bit her lip.

He stopped suddenly, breathing heavily against her inner thigh. Liz made a little disappointed sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and looked down at him. "Do you want it like this," he said roughly. He was looking at up at her, and he suddenly looked unhinged, an untamed thing. She could tell he was close and she hadn't even touched him.

The thought of it made her burn with passion, and her vision blurred a little. She wanted him..._all of him_. She blinked. "No," she said a little shakily. "I want you inside me. Let me down Red."

He set her down roughly on the bed, and she stripped off the open shirt with ease. With trembling fingers she fumbled with his belt. He was engorged, straining against the fabric, and she couldn't help but think that it was all for her.

He stood, divesting himself of the rest of his clothes, and settled on top of her.

She kissed him, tasting herself on his lips. She moaned into his mouth as her body finally came into contact with his warm skin, the smooth length of him bobbing just over her abdomen. She reached down between them, moistening her fingers and then wrapping her hand around him.

He groaned, grinding into her as he buried his face into her neck, and she traced the hot length of him from base to tip.

"I wouldn't do that unless you want these talks to end earlier than they're supposed to," he said with effort. He grabbed the exploring hand and joined it with the other, pulling them both over her head. He held them there, his thumb at her wrist, just over her scar.

He swallowed, momentarily stunned by her sparkling eyes glittering in their dark sets and her swollen mouth. He locked eyes with her. "I want you, Elizabeth," he said softly. "All of you." With that, he ducked his head and closed his lips over one of her breasts.

"Yes," she hissed through clenched teeth. She arched into him, finally working a leg over his lower back, trying not to concentrate on his mouth, on the steady ache between her legs, or on the welts on her skin that would most surely be there in the morning.

"Red," she said tightly. She was nearly panting and very close to the edge. "Now."

He stopped, looking at up at her with his standard intensity, and then he smiled. He braced himself and eased into her as his teeth closed over her collar bone.

She cried out, instantly reacting to the feel of him inside her, the fullness that felt so inexplicably right but also so new. For a few seconds neither of them moved. She felt her body contract and relax, accommodating him. She worked her hands free and grabbed his ass, giving it a gentle squeeze.

He began to move against her in long, smooth strokes, and she angled her hips into him, matching the rhythm. She had one leg bent and between them, and Red angled his head enough to place a gentle kiss in the crook of her knee.

She began to move faster, and Red followed accordingly, almost withdrawing completely before driving into her again. She arched into the pillow, moaning as her breaths came in little hitches and heat began to fill her vision. Red blinked, unfocused and very nearly gone. He kissed her hotly, his tongue probing the depths of her mouth as he ravished her body. He reached down between them and placed a flat thumb against her core, and he felt her quicken.

It was all it took. Liz held onto him, feeling her release, a crescendo of pleasure building to critical mass and then finally exploding, ripping her in half. A strangled cry escaped her lips, a guttural and inhuman sound, and she realized from somewhere far away that it was some semblance of his name.

He watched her come, her face transforming in shadow and shade, like the sun rising over a sparkling field of snow. She was beautiful, and he wanted to remember her like this (no, to see her like this) for the rest of his life.

He let himself go, thrusting a few more times before crying out in his own release. She held on to him as he rode it out, her hands drifting over the scarred flesh of his back. Distantly he wondered what she might think of it, but it no longer mattered; he no longer cared. He pressed his face into her neck and sagged against her.

They lay entangled, still joined and breathing heavily. Red pulled her close, his arms trembling a bit from exertion and simply enjoying the feel of her body against his, the weight of her in his arms. He trailed some lazy kisses down the line of her jaw, and she smiled.

"That was-" he began.

"Successful?" She laughed softly and dropped her head to his shoulder. "A successful negotiation," she finished, kissing him lightly on the neck.

He moved his hands down her back, and she shifted under his touch. "What exactly were we negotiating again?" His eyes sparkled with humor.

"I haven't the slightest idea," she said with a smile, "but would you like to again?"

He laughed, tightening his arms around her. He kissed her fully, taking his time. "Absolutely," he mumbled into the corner of her mouth, and she smiled.

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Thank you for reading! If you love Red and Liz as a pairing, check out the Lizzington Shippers Facebook Group. They're a lovely bunch of people. Also on Tumblr and Twitter.

Finally, please feed my muse! I'm still blushing a bit so I could use the encouragement. ;) Thank you for any comments! They truly make my day.


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